House Note
by Omega19x
Summary: House and his team are faced with mysterious burn victim. Who is he? What nearly killed him? And what is his connection with the Kira case? Answers only beget more questions as lives are put on the line. -House, M.D./Death Note crossover- COMPLETE
1. Charred Leather

_Insert disclaimer here: I do not own House. I do not own Death Note. But I have watched marathons of both shows recently on TV. Hence, the fanfiction. _

The night had been eerily calm. Other than a heart attack and a rogue gunshot victim, the emergency room was empty. Taking advantage of the situation, young interns shuffled between chatting with nurses about soap operas and offering them flirtatious advances. But that could, and would, change in an instant.

Glass doors clattered as a young man stumbled through them. He was small, thin, a little bit feminine, but immediately imposing. Pieces of charred leather clung to his body, barely hiding a blistering wound that covered most of his left side. Strands of blond hair were clumped together, matted and singed. There was blood everywhere.

"Oh my god…" Half of the staff was frozen in shock.

The man's breathing was labored, his voice scratchy at best as he wailed with weak inhuman grunts.

"Kira…" he eventually squeaked. "Note…book…"

His injuries were so brutal that no one, not even the orderlies, noticed the gun in his right hand. Fortunately for them, neither did he. It slid across the ground as he tumbled to his knees in front of the nurses station. The only things running through his mind were the notebook he had just lost… and unimaginable pain.

"Get a trauma team over here quick!" one of the nurses finally broke free of the moment. She rushed around the counter as Dr. Cameron hurried out of the ER. "Burn victim, likely inhalation injury, going into shock!"

"Going into shock?" she answered quickly, putting a hand to the unburned side of his neck. "He's already there."

His skin was cold and pale. His pulse was thready, clearly tachycardic. He'd lost a lot of blood.

The young man managed a silent scream as he was lifted onto a gurney. He coughed, fighting for another breath.

"Establish a line, start him on saline, Blood type O until proven otherwise. Get an endotracheal tube and get him sedated." She ordered, running alongside the trauma team. Even as he was slipping in and out of consciousness, it took two men to hold him down.

She struggled to get a good look at her patient.

The burns didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before. They weren't thermal, or if they were, they were beyond atypical. Instead of appearing red and wet, the blisters looked like large bullae. As he struggled, one of them painfully ruptured, leaking a yellowish fluid. They were most likely chemical, but that only opened up more questions – treating them depended on knowing what caused them.

"… Fuck…K..Kira…"

She stared at his lips for a moment. Did he just say, 'Kira?'

"Sir? Can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened to you? Were you attacked by Kira?"

He coughed. Already they were starting to intubate him.

"Kira… Po… poli…" he hissed as the tube was forced down his throat. Both eyes shot wide open as he tried to scream again. The eye that was surrounded by burns was a bright red.

"Good God…"

"Dr. Cameron?"

"We're dealing with chemical burns. Measure the pH of the affected area and begin irrigating the burned skin area with water. Alter the irrigation method dependent on the acidity of the irritant. Decontaminate that left eye with one to two liters of irrigation fluid over the next hour. In the meantime, ensure adequate fluid resuscitation. I'll be back."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To get House."


	2. The Kira Case

Dr. Gregory House, meanwhile, was pacing awkwardly across his office, his mind hard at work on yet another seemingly unsolvable case. His teammates were there, offering suggestions, but he had yet to acknowledge them.

"Oh goody, another one."

They all glanced nervously at each other as Dr. Robert Chase put another folder on the table.

"Myocardial infraction." Chase answered. "Dead on arrival. There was nothing they could do."

"I didn't ask if there was anything you could do. What's this make this week anyway? Number fifteen? Oh wait, unless you count Sunday as part of the week, and then it's seventeen."

Foreman only groaned, shifting through the massive pile of client files that had been scattered across the table for the last month. The stack only got bigger. Fifty-two year old male, acquitted of a drug possession charge, died last Tuesday. Nineteen year old male, first degree murder, dead this morning. Thirty-five year old female, police officer. Must have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

House's usual cynical and cruel demeanor did little to stifle his growing frustration. In all his years of practice, he'd never come across a case quite like this. In fact, these were probably the most frustrating five years of his life. (That obviously went double for his team…)

Heart attacks were the key symptom, occurring almost without rhyme or reason. The only commonality between the victims used to be a criminal background. Now, even that was questionable. The data just got more complicated as time went on. Patients were of all ages, all races, both genders and even a few in between. They suffered from different ailments, to different organ systems, and some were even in perfect health. When push came to shove, the only true commonality was this – no matter what they did, each and every one of them died.

Investigations were going on concurrently in almost every country – attributing the deaths to a criminal known only as 'Kira.' It was a hypothesis House was reluctant to believe. But for the time being, he had no way to disprove it either. If Kira was real, if he truly was able to kill by inflicting heart attacks, there had to be a means to his end. There had to be an observable, maybe even curable, preventable, medical reason for those heart attacks to occur.

House didn't know what it was, but damned if he wasn't going to find out.

"Back to the drawing board. I need differentials."

"Could be some kind of clotting disorders…" Chase volunteered. "Lupus anticoagulant?"

"It's never lupus."

"Hyperhomocysteinemia? A high level of homocysteine can make the blood in the veins and arteries more likely to clot." Foreman inserted.

"So can tumors. But Oncology ruled that out in over eighty-nine percent of the victims."

"But a high level of homocysteine can be hereditary, the result of a vitamin deficiency, chronic kidney failure, even drug use. Drug use is common in prison populations."

"You would know." House bounced a ball off the glass. "Largest correlation is with methotrexate, so we're still looking for cancer patients, and last time I checked, you didn't usually find those in prison. Check all records of blood tests for deficiencies in B6, B12 and folic acid. Maybe he's just preying off our bad diets and sending us to an early grave…"

Chase was about to begin a case for overproduction of platelets when Dr. Allison Cameron burst through the door.

"You guys better get to the ER quick." she gasped between hurried breaths. Everyone, except House, gave his undivided attention.

"What's going on?"


	3. Speculation

Dr. Cameron led the team down the hallway at a hurried pace. Foreman and Chase were right on her heels, while House limped a few steps behind.

"Patient is a young male, looks to be late teens or early twenties. Chemical burns to the left side of the face, neck, torso, stretching halfway down his left arm. The wound presents more like an erythematous rash than a burn, with fluid-filled blisters. There's corneal vascularization, consistent with some form of chemical irritation. Laryngitis, likely from inhalation injury… He's also being treated for shock. Class four hemorrhage."

"Oh goody…" House muttered sarcastically.

"Chemical?" Chase asked. "Do we know the source?"

"No. Not yet. I had them begin irrigating the burned skin with a low pressure of water while they test the area for pH."

"Just water?" Dr. Eric Foreman inserted. "If the burns are caused by an elemental metal, lithium, potassium, sodium, magnesium… They can react with water, worsen the burns."

"No sign of metallic debris. Tap water is adequate until we know the chemicals he came in contact with."

"Did they get any information from the ambulance team, from the 911 call?"

"There was no call. He came in on foot."

"Patients in that severity of shock don't just come walking through the door." Foreman argued as they turned the corner. But he was wrong, and it was quite a sight. Rather than cleaning up the mess, the orderlies were simply staring at it. There were bloody handprints on the door, haphazard splotches on the tile leading up to the nurses station desk, and a long streak running down it.

"No. They tend to stagger and fall down a lot." House rolled his eyes.

Chase and Foreman stared as well, and would have walked straight into the next set of doors had they not opened automatically.

"If he was at least partially conscious when he came in, were you able to get any information directly from him?" Chase asked, hurrying to Cameron's side again.

"Just one thing." She answered, taking a deep breath. "I think he's connected to Kira somehow."

That was enough to finally get House's attention.

"Are you sure? What'd he say?" Chase asked quickly.

"He kept repeating the word 'Kira' over and over again. Saying things like, 'Fuck Kira."

House rolled his eyes again.

"In other words, you have a Kira protestor who took a blast of tear gas to the face. Call me when you actually find something interesting." He turned sharply around and began limping toward the reception area again.

"No, I really think it's something more than that." She countered, stopping abruptly. She faced House, who just kept walking. "Typical riot agents don't present that kind of rash."

"Chase, go with Cameron and check on John Doe. When you're done, Cameron can go play nice with the lab and see if she can get any results out of the samples she'd better have taken. Get her head back into reality. Foreman, go catch the morning news and look for any kind of fire, protest disturbance, university chemistry lab accident… And see if the Cardinals beat the Red Sox while you're at it." House instructed as he walked.

"You actually think he would be on the news?"

"Of course. If it bleeds, it leads. And if you didn't notice, he was bleeding pretty badly."

"But if he's actually working against Kira…" Cameron began.

"Then he probably will be." Foreman added. "You know how pro-Kira the news has gotten lately."

"Call me when you find something interesting." House repeated. The doors opened and he limped through them. "I'm going for a walk."

The doors closed behind House as the rest of the team split up. Cameron and Chase continued toward the emergency room, discussing everything they knew so far about their patient.

"Do you really think he's connected in some way with Kira?"

"I can't be sure, but I've got a strong hunch." She answered. "Of course, House doesn't even think this 'Kira' person exists."

"Not on blind faith, no, but I do." Chase added. "Something's causing those heart attacks. It might just be my Hippocratic Oath talking, but if someone's trying to stop them, stop Kira, I'm for it."

"Me too." Cameron whispered, hoping nobody else heard. Even in the hospital, there were certain people who supported the idea of Kira and everything that he stood for. And until a medical cause for the Kira killings could be established, it was best to err on the side of caution.

The doors opened.

"Report?" Cameron asked.

"We're still trying to get him stabilized." One of the residents answered. "Initial bolus of two liters saline was given twenty about fifteen minutes ago. Irrigating the skin and eye."

"Good." Cameron interrupted. "Try to minimize the amount of irrigating solution getting on any of his unburned skin. He's already in shock, we don't want to increase the risk of hypothermia. Were you able to identify the chemical contaminants?"

"No. Not yet."

Damn, Cameron thought to herself.

"Did you find anything else about who he is? Where he might have come from or what happened to him?" Chase added.

"Nothing. Couldn't find any kind of identification on him at all." Another resident answered, closing the curtain as he left. What remained of his clothes were in a plastic bag. "You're welcome to search for yourself, if you want."

"Thanks."

Sitting on top was a set of small red rosary beads. If they knew nothing else, they at least knew who to call for Last Rites.

He rummaged through it, but unfortunately, the resident was right. The clothes they cut off of him didn't reveal anything more than a penchant for leather and flowery cologne. There was no ID, no wallet, nothing of value except for a cell phone. But even that was a dead end – there were no programmed numbers, no call history, and had an encryption method so thorough he didn't even know where to start.

"Cam, look at this."

"Look at what?" she asked, while still recording the slight improvement of the mystery patient's vitals into her chart.

"Cell phone. Whoever he is, he wanted to make sure he wouldn't be traced."

She paused, and bent down to look with him.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything's encrypted. Hidden. And done really well too. I've never seen anything like it." Chase admitted. He lowered his voice to a very short whisper. "You think he might be FBI?"

"They said there was no ID. No badge."

"What if he's working undercover?" Chase asked. "Some sort of secret agent? Isn't there a secret government organization working on the Kira case?"

"The SPK is still operational? I thought the Vice President had officially sided with Kira after the president was found dead!" she whispered back.

"If they are, they might be missing one of their own."

"Page Foreman. Have him start making a few phone calls." She instructed. "If anyone can get through, he can."

Chase just grinned.

"You got it."


	4. A Nice Gun

"You might want to mop up some of that blood." House grunted to an orderly as he hobbled toward the stained door. "Don't want anyone to slip and fall. That, and it's starting to get really creepy."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Came an unenthusiastic reply.

"Don't sound so excited." House mumbled as he stopped to study the scene. It ended with a bloody handprint on the door and haphazard footsteps leading to the nurses' station, but that didn't reveal where it might have started. House knew that was the most important clue of all in getting to the bottom of this.

In fact, he would have been out the door already, had it not been for a small trail of blood going in a different direction.

"All right. Listen up. Who was here when Mr. Soon-to-be-Scarface stumbled in?" he suddenly asked. "Anyone?"

"I was here." One of the nurses volunteered timidly.

House walked toward the blood splatter in question.

"He went one way, and blood went another. Which means either he was flicking it at somebody, or he had something in his hand and dropped it. Which one was it?"

The nurse looked at the resident. He shrugged.

"I… We didn't notice…"

"I did." The orderly held up a loaded pistol he had picked up shortly after Cameron's team had taken the patient back. "No shots were fired. Probably too disoriented from the blood loss to remember he was even carrying it."

He passed the weapon to House who studied it for a moment. After a thorough investigation of the firearm, he cocked a smile and nodded.

"Is there something important about it?" the resident asked. House didn't waste even a breath.

"Hell if I know. But it's a nice gun." He wrapped it in piece of linen and hid it behind the nurses' counter. "Keep it safe for me. I'll be back for it later."

The nurses exchanged some worried looks, but by the time they turned back to House, he was on his way out the door.


	5. Differentials

For the next couple of hours, the team tried to wrap their heads around this mystery. House had performed one of his famous vanishing acts, leaving them with the task of saving the life of a potential secret Kira-assassin while all the while trying to figure out exactly who he was and what had happened to him.

Morning news reports about Kira came and went. There were also no reports on their mysterious John Doe. Whatever happened the night before either wasn't known yet, which was still possible, or it was being thoroughly covered up.

And to make matters worse, their own investigations were coming up consistently inconclusive.

"Lab results are all negative." Cameron sighed as she put the paperwork down on the table. Chase picked it up, flipped through the charts, and hummed in agreement.

"All right. Let's recap what we do know."

"Okay, we ruled out anything thermal." Cameron started. "We ruled out general riot control agents. The lab has tested for everything ranging from sulfuric acid to hydrofluoric acid. But they didn't find anything."

"I know it's a long shot, but could it be infection of some kind…" Chase speculated. "Staphylococcal scalded skin syndrome?"

"He's too old. 98% of cases occur on children under six. And his skin samples showed no signs of infection." She countered.

"Anaphylactic reaction?"

"We ruled out the possibility that this was caused by an allergic reaction, exposure to poisonous plants… His tox screen even came back clean for recreational drugs."

"So all we know is that he was burned."

Cameron nodded and sighed.

"We need more information."

"Wish I could be of help." The door creaked, and Foreman walked into the room. "I just got off the phone with the SPK."

"And?" Cameron asked.

"I gave them the description of our John Doe and asked if they were missing any agents." He slumped into the chair. "They're not."

"Are you sure?" Cameron asked again. "Maybe you talked to someone who wasn't in a position to know if he's an agent or not."

"They patched me through to someone who wanted to only be called N. He's their leader. I asked him a couple of times, but he was really sure that everyone on his team was accounted for."

"So he's not SPK." Chase mused. "It doesn't rule out the possibility that he might be working for another organization to solve the case. He could even be doing it on his own."

"Like some kind of Bruce Wayne?" Foreman added with a tone that sounded very much like their missing boss.

"We can't rule it out." Chase defended his position.

"And at least it fits better than listing ridiculous skin conditions." Cameron added, both jabbing at Chase and agreeing with him at the same time.

"No, no. Actually, after talking with the SPK, I'd actually say I have to agree with you. N said they weren't missing any of their agents, but he did sound very interested in our patient. If he's not an agent, maybe he's someone they know, someone they want to team up with."

It was a theory, at least. But their minor victory was short-lived. Cameron's pager suddenly went off.

"He's crashing. We've got to go." She sprinted out the door.


	6. All of a Sudden

Their patient crashing, Cameron sprinted out the door.

Chase leapt to his feet, turning toward Foreman.

"Aren't you coming?"

"I just sat down. Besides, House said to call him if anything interesting happened." He added with a tone that was a little too nonchalant as he pulled out his cell phone and started dialing "This would certainly be his definition of interesting."

Chase waited for a few more seconds, while Foreman visibly grimaced at hearing House's voice mail. He closed the cell phone against his forehead.

"I think I had better luck with the secret government organization…" he sighed.

"I think you're right."

Cameron rushed into the Intensive Care unit, and could hear monitors beeping wildly. The mysterious young man was in the middle of a seizure, and two nurses were attempting to hold him down. Another doctor was adjusting the IV.

"Report!" Cameron shouted as she hurried through the door.

"We'd just gotten him stable." The doctor reported. "We irrigated the wound for over an hour, and he was fine. Then all of a sudden…"

"Is it Kira?"

"It has to be. He's going into cardiac arrest!"

"Not if I can help it." Chase ran through the door soon after. His eyes darted between the patient and the monitors. "Prolonged QT, ventricular fibrillation… Blood pressure dropping."

"Crash cart!" Cameron shouted, as the defibrillator was rolled in behind her.

"No… Wait…" Chase held out his hand.

Cameron's gaze jumped in surprise. For a moment, she wasn't sure what she heard. "Chase, what the hell are you doing?"

"This isn't Kira." Chase insisted. "This isn't a heart attack."

"What?!"

"Increase the medication to stabilize blood pressure before we get to multi-organ failure."

"Chase, you're starting to sound like House."

He immediately took a syringe and drew blood from their patient.

"He's not here. So someone's got to do it, right?"

Cameron eyed him warily.

"Don't believe me, run a sample. You'll see elevated levels of troponin, but not high enough levels to indicate a heart attack." He insisted. "In fact, run the whole battery of tests all over again. This wasn't happening before."

"Delayed reaction to the chemical contamination?"

"Possible. But I doubt it…" he mused. "But if something changed, the blood work will show it."

Cameron nodded, taking the sample. After a shot of medication, the seizure began to subside. The ventilator was already relieving the short-lived bout of pulmonary edema. As the seizure passed, he could see clear differences in the man's condition. The wound was a brighter red. EEG readings spiked, showing greater amounts of pain. Moving closer, he lifted the left eyelid. There were lesions where none had been before. He wasn't sure what was going on, but something had definitely changed.

"Man, I sure wish House was here…" Chase muttered to himself. He increased the dosage of morphine, easing some of the young man's pain.

"Chase…" she paused at the door for a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Don't let Kira win." She whispered, carefully clutching the syringe.

Chase nodded in return. "Believe me, not without a fight."

Cameron walked quickly toward the lab, pressing the elevator button at least four times before the door finally opened. In her rush, she was all the more startled to find an agitated Dr. Cuddy exiting the elevator ahead of her.

"Have you seen House?" Cuddy asked without wasting a breath.

"Not since daybreak." She answered as she hopped on the now-empty elevator. There wasn't time to ask any questions. Cuddy merely grumbled something under her breath and stormed off in the other direction.

As the elevator doors closed, Cameron almost wondered what House must have done this time, especially when he wasn't even there.


	7. SPK

The monitors had since gone blank. During the entire call with Dr. Eric Foreman, Near hadn't once glanced up from his remote-controlled car. But now, he was watching the empty screen with a deep, penetrating gaze. Teammates Anthony Rester, Halle Linder and Stephen Gevanni looked at each other nervously, and then back at him.

"Near, is there something you're not telling us?" Gevanni eventually asked what everyone else was already thinking. "Everyone else was killed... Aren't we three the only ones left?"

"That is essentially correct." Near answered emotionlessly, twirling a lock of white hair around his largest finger. He looked more like an overgrown child than the head of a secret investigative team. He paused, glancing up at Linder, but said nothing else.

The woman felt a lump in her throat and tried to swallow it. She knew that Near knew… And she knew that Rester and Gevanni had no idea – that she was, in part, a double agent. While she had sworn her allegiance to the SPK, the Special Provision for Kira, she had also taken great care to leak their findings to someone else. That someone was also working to catch Kira, and they matched the description of Dr. Foreman's John Doe down to every last detail.

There was no chance that it could be a mere coincidence either, especially after the explosion they had recorded the night before.

"I have no other agents currently working with me besides you three. However, I would not be above working with others who possess the common goal of catching Kira." Near put added emphasis on that statement. "Even if they see it differently."

They understood.

This was the same individual they had been tracking for the past month – the man who orchestrated the kidnapping of the NPA director Kanichi Takimura and Japanese task force chief's daughter in order to force Kira's hand… the man who may or may not have been responsible for the deaths of the other SPK members. In their structured investigation, he was a wild card, a lone wolf choosing to act alone, and willing to tear through anything in his path. He may have been greatly unpredictable, but to Near, he was an important pawn. He could do what needed to be done, lacking restraint, lacking hesitation, perhaps even lacking conscience.

"He's alive…." Rester finally spoke with disbelief. "Mello… is alive."

"But for how long?" Linder tapped against the console nervously. "You watched it all on the monitors. And we haven't even gotten confirmation that anyone in the taskforce survived!"

"Given the secret nature of the operation, it is unlikely that they would make their presence known, especially at a local hospital. Questions would be asked. And with public opinion turning in Kira's favor, that could be quite dangerous indeed."

"And Mello?" Linder added. "He's not exactly the type that can be asked questions either."

"No, he's certainly not. But for Mello to turn up at a hospital, of all places, means that may have had no other choice. The doctor indicated he arrived at the hospital in a state of severe hypovolemic shock. The situation was life-threatening, and by that point, I doubt even I would have been thinking clearly."

Linder cringed, and she was certain that Near noticed.

"They're likely missing pieces to the puzzle, or else they wouldn't be fishing for more information. Mello probably can't provide it in his current condition, and even if he could, he won't."

"Then he's going to die." Linder's voice quivered slightly.

If such a thought bothered Near, he didn't show it.

"Maybe so."

Rester and Gevanni exchanged uneasy glances again. Neither of them spoke. Linder, however, couldn't bear not to, even if it would blow her cover.

"You do know that if he dies, it'll hurt this investigation. We've learned more about Kira from Mello's actions than from anything we've actually done. If he dies, Kira wins."

She grabbed her coat, putting it on as she walked quickly towards the door.

"Stop." Near gave a direct order. "You might think you can help by answering their questions, crafting an elaborate alibi that will elude all suspicion. But you can't."

She stopped, her hand still gripping the door handle.

"It will only make them more suspicious and put Mello's life in even more danger."

Her hand slowly fell from the door. She hated to admit it, but she knew Near was right. Nothing she could say would help Mello if he or anyone else provided even one contradictory detail.

"I know that, Near. But are you really prepared to just let him die."

"I don't have to be." Near answered with calm assurance. "In fact, I don't think he could have fallen into better hands. Not everyone asks questions, Halle."


	8. Evidence

House wasn't sure who their mysterious John Doe was or how he acquired his injuries, but if he came in carrying that gun, it definitely limited the possibilities. He was either a man of the law or someone who broke it.

"Still doesn't explain the chemical burns, though…" House muttered to himself as he had followed the trail of blood out the door. It kept close to the wall, giving the patient something to hold on to as his coordination rapidly deteriorated. He followed what he could find of the backwards footprints across the grass, through the mud, along a drainage ditch and along the highway. There was only one problem. House didn't even realize that he was being carefully followed as well.

Pausing for a moment, he popped a handful of vicodin and checked his watch.

"So much for tear gas." He mumbled to himself. The trail had certainly not grown cold, though the untrained eye would have lost it long ago. "Effects would have dissipated in fifteen minutes. This is something else… something worse."

He looked up, and continued on. He would have even kept going had he not spotted something unusual out of the corner of his eye.

Strewn atop a pile of litter and rubbish was the remains of a decently sophisticated gas mask. It was completely destroyed, the entire left side torn off. There was no mistaking who it belonged to. And that alone led House to several important conclusions.

First, that it actually was something worse. The fact that John Doe had the gas mask in the first place meant that he knew he was in the presence of dangerous, if not toxic, chemicals. He planned ahead. He knew exactly what to expect and what he was dealing with. Something had obviously not gone according to that plan.

Second, that wherever he was, he left it in a hurry, not initially thinking to discard the mask even though it was obviously damaged and therefore useless.

And third, that he must have traveled a long way. There was no sign of foul play nearby, and he speculated that the trail would get harder and harder to follow as he went on. Destruction of bronchiolar mucosa and submucosa could easily obstruct the airway. Given the state of their mysterious patient upon arrival, House speculated this must have been the point where breathing became more difficult. He probably ripped the mask off in an attempt to get better air, discarding it carelessly.

House pulled a latex glove out of his coat pocket and put it on. He bent down, and carefully picked up the mask, studying what was left of its filter.

"Good and clogged. Just how I like it." he replied sarcastically to himself, pulling out his cell phone.

Given everything he found, he didn't exactly have good news to report. This couldn't have been just some kind of accident. If Cameron was right, and he was involved with Kira, then Kira was a bio-terrorist. Because this was nothing short of chemical warfare.

He already knew it wasn't something as mild as chloroacetophenone. Choking agents like phosgene were out of the picture as well, as were nerve agents. The only remaining possibility was one of the vesicants, the blistering agents.

He hesitated a moment before dialing the last numbers. He could picture the look on Cuddy's face when the hospital suddenly turned into a panic-induced hot zone. And at least part of him probably wanted to be there to see that look in person. He disregarded that part a moment later, though, and sent the call.

Dr. James Wilson answered after a single ring.

"House, where the hell are you?!" the voice on the other end of the line frantically spat. Apparently House had also missed, or more accurately, intentionally ignored, quite a few incoming calls. The signal wasn't very strong, but he could get the gist of the message. "Cuddy's been looking for you for the past three hours, screaming something about a gun you hid behind the nurses' station?!"

"Good to know. I won't make a habit of getting them to stash my vicodin for me anymore either." House replied with a smirk.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"I'll explain later. We have bigger problems, or should I say Cuddy has bigger problems. Has Cameron gotten any lab results back on her John Doe?"

"I know they got him somewhat stabilized. But that's it. House, I haven't heard a thing..."

"They won't." he interrupted.

"Wait, what?"

"Blister agents are biotransformed and bound to tissues within minutes of adsorption, leaving no obvious traces."

"What binds to tissues? Hey, you're breaking up?"

"Or something close to it. There's a whole family of possibilities, mustard, cytotoxic alkylating compounds, organic arsenicals..."

"House… I can barely make you out. Where are you?"

"Possibly contaminated the whole wing. Might want to get Cuddy on that right away. Trust me, she'll forget all about the gu…" He interrupted again, but was cut short.

Wilson almost dropped the phone when he heard the sound of a gunshot through the earpiece. It was followed by a surprised yelp and a loud thud. Another shot was fired, and the call went dead.


	9. Something's Wrong

Wilson scurried down the hallways of the hospital clutching his cell phone. He'd tried to reach House a couple more times, but all of his calls went straight to voicemail. And he was worried, so worried that it almost made him sick.

In fact, he was so worried, he didn't even notice Dr. Cuddy until he walked right into her, almost knocking her to the floor in the process.

"Oh! I am so sorry…" he stumbled, the cell phone bobbling between both hands before it finally crashed onto the floor.

"No, it's okay…" Cuddy froze, looking him over cautiously as he snatched the phone again. "Are you… all right?"

"No!" he immediately blurted out, thoughts escaping before he had the time to decide whether he should voice them or not. "I mean, yes. I'm fine. But House isn't. At least, I don't think he is, I don't know!"

"You knew where he is, and didn't tell me?" Cuddy interrupted, her voice stern. She had been trying to find him for hours, with no luck.

"No. I don't know where he is, and that's the problem!"

"What?"

"He called me a few minutes ago. He had information about one of his patients. I don't know where he went to get it, but wherever he went, there were gunshots, Cuddy. Gunshots. That's the last thing I heard before the call went dead!"

Cuddy hardly moved. Her eyes twitched and her mouth clamped shut, the only outward signs that her rage had quickly changed to worry. House was right about one thing - where that gun had come from was suddenly the least of her concerns.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." He insisted, running a hand through his hair. He tried to slow down, and think more clearly. "I mean, the connection wasn't great, but I heard them. Clear as day, I heard them. Gunshot. House made some kind of noise. Second gunshot. Call went dead."

"Do you have any idea where he would have gone?"

"No. He kept trying to tell me something about the Jon Doe that Cameron was working on. Something important, but I couldn't make it out. Something about bigger problems, something binding to tissues. Contamination… I really have no idea."

"Okay…" Cuddy forced herself to think rationally as well. "I've already talked to Cameron. She doesn't know where House is either. Said he was going for a walk, and never came back. Foreman said he's been trying to call him for the past hour, but he never answered."

"They don't know where he went?"

"No."

"Well, someone has to!"

"Even the nurses who had the gun don't know anything! All they said was House walked out the door before they even had time to ask him where the hell he thought he was going." Cuddy shouted, drawing unwanted attention from a couple orderlies at the other end of the hall.

"Then we have to find him, and fast." Wilson insisted. "Or not only is that patient going to be dead, but so is House…"

Cuddy trembled, and forcibly swallowed the lump that had crept up her throat.

"You're right."

Together, they rushed toward the elevator, turning the corner only to slam into Dr. Cameron. Her papers went flying as she fell into the wall.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry…" Wilson began for the second time in a ten-minute period. He offered her a hand while Cuddy gathered up the papers. They were the lab reports for John Doe's latest blood sample, and for the first time, they actually contained some answers.

"No, no, I wasn't looking where I was going either." Cameron took the report and straightened the papers.

"Cameron, have you spoken with House?" Cuddy immediately asked.

"No. Not since I talked to you earlier. What's he done…" she paused. Cuddy's expression wasn't angry anymore. Instead, it was filled with concern. She glanced at Wilson. He was even more worried. "… Something's wrong… What's wrong?"

"We don't know for sure. We have to find House."

"He called me about your patient, the John Doe. He was trying to say something about not being able to get lab results because something bound instantly to the tissues, something about contamination. I couldn't really make him out." Wilson tried to explain. "The next thing I knew, there were gunshots. And… and the call went dead."

Cameron clutched the lab report. Dead was certainly the operative word. She was instantly torn between wondering whether House was all right and what clues he must have found regarding the mysterious burn patient. One, or maybe both, could be dying right now, but she couldn't force her self to think like that. This second set of results may have provided some new answers, but only at the cost of even more problems.

"I'm heading back to the others right now." She replied. "I'll fill them in. If they know anything at all, I'll let you know. You two find House. We're going to need him on this one."


	10. Rat

House wasn't quite sure where he was, or even how he managed to get there. All he knew was that he was blindfolded, facing the ground, well restrained and had taken a single bullet to an already useless leg. He could feel the blood pooling in his jeans, the tough denim sticking to the edges of the wound. The bone was fractured, just below the knee. Thankfully, or perhaps miraculously, no major vessels were severed. It was incredibly painful, but certainly not fatal. And that suggested one thing to House – that wherever he was, it was important that he was still alive.

At the very least, it meant he was lucky.

House closed his eyes and tried to steady his own breathing. Getting out of there alive meant at least keeping a clear head. And this wasn't the time to fall prey to psychogenic shock. He managed to cross his legs, putting pressure on the entry wound. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the time being.

"So… what do we have here?" a scratchy voice echoed in the distance. It was hoarse, as though it came from a decade-long chain-smoker, and was thick with a Sicilian accent. House could hear heavy footsteps walking toward him, followed by the lasting aroma of expensive cigars.

"It's a rat, boss. Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong." The other voice was thin and nasal. He probably had a head cold, or perhaps it was just from the other man's smoke.

"Do I look like some kind of pussy? I didn't send you out for a rat." The first voice hissed. "I sent you for Mello."

"I know, boss. I know."

"He's not dead. He can't be dead. Even if all the others are dead, I won't believe he's dead until I either see his corpse with my own two eyes or I kill him with my own two hands. If he can break into my sanctum, incapacitate my family, ax my own brother under my nose and still escape without a scratch, I know he's alive somewhere. I can feel it in my bones."

"No. What you feel is probably lung cancer that metastasized to your bones." House finally spoke. He felt something thin and round strike against his shoulders. It was his own cane.

"The rat's got a mouth on him."

"Sure does, boss." The nasal man agreed without a second thought. "He was using it when we caught up with him, talking on his phone about some kind of drug stash."

He could hear a pill bottle being tossed from one person to another. His leg throbbed at the sound, and for a moment he would have given anything to get that bottle back.

"That's not particularly interesting to me."

"And weapons, boss. Mustard gas. Other ones too. Didn't catch them all." He continued.

"You're wasting my time. And my time is very very valuable…"

"Of course it is, Boss. I know that!" the nasal voice whimpered slightly. House listened for another cane strike, but it didn't come. "He also had this."

House knew what they were holding up. It had to be the broken gas mask he'd found only minutes before he was shot. The thicker voice began to laugh.

"There's only one racket in this whole state who'd be dealing in both of those, boss." The nasal man laughed as well. "Someone's got to pick up the pieces after the raid, hide the evidence… Wouldn't need to do that if Mello was dead, would he?"

A thin foot made contact with House's right thigh. He couldn't muffle the scream.

"Would he?" the voice repeated itself, louder this time, expecting some sort of response.

House may not have known exactly what their John Doe had been up to, but he at least knew one thing. As 'Mello,' he certainly had a lot of secrets and a lot of enemies.

He quickly weighed several answers in his mind. First things first, he had to protect his patient and his team. If these men learned that Mello was incapacitated in the hospital, he could pretty much assume they'd go looking for him. And when, not if, they found him, there was going to be a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. His patient would obviously die. His team would probably die. And anyone foolish enough to walk out of the bathroom at the wrong time could die as well.

House could not let that happen.

"I don't know… what you're talking about." House finally spat, and the foot made contact with his thigh again. The underling couldn't figure out why that spot made such an inhuman scream echo from their victim, but he clearly relished it.

"You're lying!"

"Everybody lies." He choked on the words, but spoke them nonetheless.

House's face slammed against the wooden floor as a large foot pushed him back down. He could feel thin hands reaching into his pants pockets, searching for any markers of his identity. They found his wallet.

"Well, look what we've got here…" the thin voice sneered with a snake-like laugh. "Gregory House, M.D. Well, I'll be… We're in the presence of a doctor!

House couldn't be certain, but he could almost feel two pairs of eyes looking him down. Fortunately for him, he didn't exactly look much like a doctor. Torn t-shirts instead of lab coats, a cane instead of a clipboard, a five o'clock shadow at nine in the morning and a half empty bottle of Vicodin in the name of a sixty nine year old woman named Natalie Zuluwaski. It didn't exactly scream Department Head of Diagnostics.

"That's a load of bullshit. He's nothing more than a useful con artist with a profitable hospital drug scam." The thicker voice coughed. With the threat of Kira always looming, no one even used a real name anymore. But he had to admit, the bound man was playing his role pretty convincingly.

"Oh yeah. Con artist, boss. Yeah…"

"You know where Mello is, all right. Don't you." The thick voice shouted. House tried to move, but the end of his cane pushed him back on the floor. The gas mask was all the proof this man apparently needed. It had to be legitimate. "After the big explosion, he'd want drugs. Your drugs. And he'd want somebody to dispose of the evidence… So tell me, and maybe I'll go easy on you… Where's Mello hiding?"

This was bigger than he or his team could ever have imagined… drug dealers, black market bombs, powerful enemies with fast guns and even faster tempers.

"Explosion? What explosion? I don't know what you're talking about." House took a chance and insisted again that he knew nothing. The thicker voice growled, clearly not pleased with House's tone, and he felt the cane thrust into his back again. It would surely leave a mark.

"I know you know!"

"Yeah…" the nasal voice chimed in. "If you're smart enough to make up doctory words like meta-stasticized, you're smart enough to know when to talk!"

"Morons…" House couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

"Shut up." the hoarse voice bellowed. House froze. He could hear the faint sound of a gun being cocked. "You should know by now… We have ways of making you talk…"

House held is breath and closed his eyes. A round of shots were fired.


	11. Clues

A door slammed in the distance as Cameron hurried to the intensive care wing. Foreman met her at the door to their patient's room. Chase was still inside. He was diligently applying a thin film of Silvadene ointment to the massive burns, and then covering them with loose sterile dressings.

"How is he?" she asked. There was nervousness in her voice that went beyond thoughts of their patient, and Foreman picked up on it right away.

"Critical." Chase answered, "Blood pressure still low, continuing myocardial dysfunction… Temperature started climbing about thirty minutes ago. I started him on broad-spectrum antibiotics to ward off a possible infection. We can't run the risk of him developing pneumonia. Not in his condition."

"He's picked up a secondary infection..."

"He could have picked up just about anything with wounds that size." Foreman added. "I'm not surprised."

"Me neither. And it's also not the only thing he's picked up since coming here…" Cameron whispered. She walked inside, and handed the lab report to Foreman. He read it, but he didn't believe it.

He glanced between Cameron and the report a couple more times before finally speaking again.

"Are you sure?"

Chase looked up from the patient. "What is it?"

"Arsenic poisoning." Foreman answered, still in disbelief.

"Arsenic poisoning would explain the sudden heart rate disturbances, the accumulation of fluid in the lungs, the increased erythroderma." He paused, putting the pieces together.

"What about the seizures?"

"In cases of severe arsenic poisoning, it is true that encephalopathy can lead to brain swelling and brain vessel bleeding. That can cause seizures. But they could have just as easily been caused by the heart rate irregularities themselves. And they'd almost have to be. Neurological symptoms might present soon after exposure, but they typically develop over several days."

"The other symptoms could occur within hours, though." Cameron added.

"Even within minutes." Chase corrected.

"All right, let's start him on Dimercaprol via intramuscular injection. It's the best antidote for systemic arsenic exposure."

"Wait. Wait just a minute here." Foreman quickly inserted. "Arsenic poisoning fits these new symptoms, and it might even explain the chemical burns in the event of some kind of accident. But it doesn't erase the fact that the first test results were completely clear. There was no arsenic before, and suddenly, there is? It doesn't fit."

"I know…" She answered. "Unless there was some kind of mix-up between patients, and I'm checking on that right now, it means he was poisoned after he got here."

"That's impossible!" Chase exclaimed. "Absolutely unthinkable. For symptoms that severe to occur that suddenly, he would have to be exposed to a significant quantity of arsenic. It would have been deliberate. Because we even thought for a moment…"

He suddenly quieted his voice.

"Because we thought he might be connected with Kira, at least one of us has been present the entire time. If anything had happened, we would have known. Hell, we would have even been exposed and showing some of the same symptoms…"

They exchanged very nervous glances, momentarily second-guessing even the slightest twinge.

"But we're not…" Foreman added uneasily. "So he couldn't have been…"

"No. There was a brief period where none of us were present. It wasn't very long, maybe five, ten minutes, but it could have been long enough for someone to do it."

"We never…"

"We did. I did. When I left the ER to come get you and House…"

"My god, you're right…"

"When we were taking him back, right before he was intubated and sedated, he was trying to say something about Kira. " Cameron revealed. "I heard it, the other doctors heard it too. Anyone coming down the hall could have heard it."

"And if there was a Kira supporter on the team…" Chase gasped.

"Then we don't just have a patient. We've got a crime scene on our hands too." Foreman added. "We need to tell Cuddy, before anyone else finds out. If someone tried to kill him, they may try to kill someone else too, in order to cover it up, or make it seem like an accidental death."

Suddenly Cameron froze.

"Cuddy's not here…" she trembled. This time, they both noticed the change in Cameron's demeanor. Something was seriously wrong. "She and Wilson went to look for House... Neither of you two have seen him, right?"

"I haven't seen him since he said he was going for a walk this morning, when we split up outside the ER." Chase answered nervously.

"I've tried calling him several times, but he never picked up." Foreman answered. "Not like that's unusual for House. What's going on?"

"I just ran into Cuddy. House had called Wilson… trying to tell him something about John Doe. He must have gone investigating something. I don't know exactly what he must have said. Wilson couldn't make much of it out. The call went dead… after Wilson heard gunshots."

"Gunshots?!" Chase almost shouted.

"God…"

Cameron only nodded. "Whoever our John Doe is, he's important enough that someone wants him eliminated."

"Yeah, but you do realize that if someone's trying to kill him." Foreman gestured toward the unresponsive patient. "And they go after House… We're probably next."

The team didn't want to think about that, but it was a definite possibility.

"All right." Chase's voice was very stern. "We're going to need police guarding this room at all times, perhaps even personal escorts."

"No. Don't you get it? That'll draw attention to us and to him!" Foreman whispered. "We don't even know who's behind it. A lot of the police have sided with Kira now. If he's some kind of vigilante, then the police might even be behind it."

"No way…"

"If they've gone after House, then it's more than just an attempted murder suspect in the ER. There are just too many variables, too many unknowns. Trust me. Right now, we can't afford to make any sudden moves. If we lose our lives, there are a lot of patients who are going to lose theirs."

Suddenly, Cameron gasped. She covered her mouth so she wouldn't make any noise.

"What is it?"

"Cuddy and Wilson! They went to look for House. They could be walking right into a trap…"

"Oh my god…"


	12. Matt

House heard the gun go off, but to his surprise, he didn't feel any of the bullets hit him. Instead, the targets appeared to be the two voices that had been questioning him. He heard a pair of bone-chilling screams echo in the otherwise empty room, and then nothing.

He didn't feel the ropes being cut off him, just the feeling of pins and needles that it produced. He moved his fingers first, and then his wrists. Both hands felt as though they were still asleep. A pair of thin hands untied the blindfold from his face and, after noticing the bullet wounds, tied it tightly around his right leg as a makeshift tourniquet.

House, meanwhile, slowly opened his eyes. The room was sparse and dim, lit by a single bulb hanging precariously from an exposed wire. Blood stained the wood floors, and House knew immediately that it wasn't all his. Most of it had dried, caked in gruesome layers. This was a place that nightmares were made, and even House could not escape the very human desire to get out of there as quickly as possible. He tried to move, but it was very painful.

"Careful, now. Are you badly hurt?" another, much quieter voice whispered next to him. He looked over his shoulder, and saw another young man kneeling at his feet. There was a gun next to him, but he didn't seem the type to be using it. In fact, he looked like he didn't belong there at all. He was probably still a teenager, his unruly red hair and strange goggles hiding a pair of timid eyes. There was an old-fashioned Game Boy in his vest pocket, and an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Yeah. I've been shot." He answered curtly. He pushed himself up, and snatched back the ID card that the boy was studying. He shoved it back in his pocket, and redid the bandage on his own leg.

"You're changing my bandage…" the boy watched House for another moment. "Why?"

"Well, duh." House groaned. "Why? Because it's too tight, cutting off circulation. This leg might be pretty much dead, but I'd like to keep it. I've grown rather attached to it. Now, if you're going to do me a favor, pass me that pill bottle over there."

He did as he was told.

"So, your ID is real, then. You are a doctor." He added, handing him the bottle. House popped the lid off and swallowed three of the pills in a single gulp. "Were you a con man like Rosario said you were, you'd have left my tourniquet on, permanently damaging your leg."

House eyed him warily for a moment.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Call me Matt." He answered. He almost held his hand out, but decided this wasn't exactly the time or place. "And I'm looking for Mello."

House could hardly believe it. For turning up in the middle of the night as a barbecued John Doe, this Mello person sure had a lot of people who really wanted to find him. And most of them wanted to kill him once they did.

"Well at least you aren't shooting at me." He shoved the bottle of pills into his coat pocket and reached for his cane.

"I'm not stupid." Matt replied seriously. "I'd been tracking Mello myself after intercepting a call made to the SPK earlier this morning. I was heading toward the nearest hospital to investigate when I spotted you. I watched you pick up that gas mask under the overpass. And I saw Rosario's goon pump your leg full of lead."

House was nervous. This boy was smarter than anyone would likely give him credit for. He wasn't even aware he was being followed, but he wasn't about to let his rescuer know it. "And you did a good job doing something about it, didn't you."

"You could have been a detective. I had to be sure. But if you're a doctor, and you were out looking for clues, that means only one thing – Mello's in your hospital, in your care, and he's in bad enough shape that he can't help you figure out what's wrong."

"What's it to you?" House grunted. He'd been through enough in the past few hours to make him very wary of anyone connected to the mysterious patient. Matt noticed that, and he thought for a moment before answering.

"He's my best friend… And if he's in trouble… I have to help him."

House paused as well. The response didn't sound like a lie. In fact, it sounded a lot like… Wilson.

"All right, Matt. You're right. On all accounts." House managed to stand with a little help. Even though it was a small wound, he'd still lost a lot of blood. "Now listen. You help me get out of here, and I'll take you to this Mello guy. Do we have a deal?"

Matt nodded. He hoisted House's right arm over his neck, and started in the direction of some boarded-up windows. "Come on, I've got a car about a block away. Can you walk that far?"

"Of course I can. It's not like I've been shot or something. Oh wait, I have."


	13. Not Nearly as Bad as Being Shot

Wilson and Cuddy followed the trail of blood as far as they could. When that disappeared, they started following footprints, and if they were lucky, cane prints.

"Are you sure he went this way?" Wilson looked up at the top of an overpass, wondering if House had taken to the highway instead. Several cars drove by, slowing down as they turned in front of them. At this rate, one path was as good as another.

"Not any more sure than you are." She eventually answered.

They paused for a moment, trying to decide on a new direction, when Cuddy spotted something shiny in the dust.

"Over there!" she shouted.

"Over where?"

"There!" she pointed. The sun moved between the clouds, and something glistened along the side of the road. Wilson crouched down, examining the area closely.

It was House's cell phone, or at least, what was left of it. The phone had been completely destroyed, blown apart by a well-placed bullet. Looking at how the pieces had scattered, it looked like House had dropped it before it was shot.

"There's blood here too…" Cuddy shivered. "He was shot at least once, then. We don't know where, and we don't know how badly..."

"I can't find any trails of blood leading away from this spot." Wilson added. "If he had tried to escape, we'd see something…"

"You know that means they probably took him after they shot him. They could be dumping his body in the lake on the other side of town by now."

"That's not a comforting thought," Wilson turned to Cuddy and gave her a rather dirty look.

"No, it's not." She agreed. "And here's one that's even less comforting. We don't even know anything about the people who shot him, including what they might do next… This was a very stupid idea Wilson. I can't believe I let you talk me into coming out here."

"Let me talk you into coming?" he put very heavy emphasis on the order of those pronouns. "You didn't exactly put up any resistance when Cameron suggested we find House."

"But it was your idea to follow the trail all the way out here!" she shouted, exasperated.

Wilson opened his mouth to refute her exclamation, but he was quickly distracted.

One of the cars that drove past them come to a stop about a half a block away. It looked immediately suspicious. On the one hand, the car had certainly seen better days. There was a large dent in the rear fender. Red paint had peeled off in large chunks, leaving a dirty, scarred finish. On the other hand, the engine roared like a lion that was circling its prey. Every window was tinted, making it impossible to see who or what might be inside.

Wilson gulped. This was the kind of car you'd expect from a getaway driver, a mafia henchman or a criminal underling, the kind of people who are sent to tie up all the lose ends and quickly disappear without a trace.

A pair of white lights turned on as the car slowly started to back up.

"… Cuddy…"

"We could be in a lot of danger just being here…" she continued. Wilson didn't even listen.

"Oh God… Cuddy…"

She tried to look into his eyes, but they were shaking with fear.

"Wh…what is it?" She hesitantly followed them, turning her head. The car continued to back up, rolling to a stop in front of them.

"Oh God…"

"You don't think that could be…"

"That wasn't a comforting thought either." Wilson whispered. His mind told him to run, but he couldn't make his legs move. Try as she might, Cuddy couldn't move hers either. Like deer in headlights, all they could do was pray that whoever shot house wasn't in that car and that they wouldn't be next.

They whispered broken apologies to each other as the car's back window slowly came down. Wilson latched onto Cuddy's arm, and Cuddy clung just as fiercely to his. They closed their eyes and held their breath.

Clearly fearing the worst, they were absolutely beside themselves when they heard a familiar voice.

"Boy, I sure am glad you're better at curing patients than finding missing people." House leaned his head out the window and rolled his eyes. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

Both Wilson and Cuddy almost fainted.

"House, what in the hell…" Cuddy let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"I heard the gunshots. Are you all right?!"

"Get in." he lifted his head, but not quite enough to get it out of the window. His neck flopped back down, and his eyelids fluttered groggily. "Unless you really want to walk back."

They both nodded. Matt shuffled some papers off the seat to make room. Wilson walked around the car while Cuddy opened the front passenger side door. She stared hesitantly at the driver and her nose curled in disgust. He waved uncomfortably, attempting to be polite, but the smell of an overfilled ashtray was a little too overwhelming.

"It's all right. He's not the one that shot me. He's the one that shot the one that shot me."

"Oh, right. Like that's any better…" Cuddy just took a deep breath, and slid into the seat. At this point, there wasn't much of a choice. She cringed as the boy managed to squeeze one more discarded cigarette butt into the tray before taking out another and immediately lighting it.

Wilson opened the other door to find House sprawled uncomfortably across the entire back seat. The leather was wet with blood, stemming from a hastily bandaged bullet wound in House's right leg. Wilson looked at the injury and then back at House, whose eyes almost rolled back in his head.

"House, how long has it…"

"Been bleeding out? Hell if I know. What time is it?" he replied quickly, popping the lid off the pill bottle. He tossed a couple of pills into his mouth and swallowed them. "Oh, be careful where you sit. It's a little damp."

"You do realize this is going to hurt." Wilson warned as he carefully lifted House's bad leg. He could tell instantly that one, if not both, of his lower leg bones was broken, pummeled in two by the force of the bullet. House grimaced at first, and then screamed. He tried to sit up, but it did little good. After another minute of awkward shuffling, the door finally shut.

"Not nearly as bad as being shot." House finally replied, slumping against the door again.


	14. Mello

Dr. Cuddy ran into the hospital as soon as the car pulled to a stop. Everything in the reception area had been cleaned, from the handprints on the door to the bloody streaks along the tile. In fact, it looked like nothing had even happened.

"I need a surgical team prepped immediately!" she ordered. "And have doctors Cameron, Foreman and Chase paged."

Before the attending nurse could even answer, the doors opened again.

"House, stay with us. We're almost there." Wilson instructed as the man in question slumped over again. Wilson held his right arm, while Matt kept a tight grip on his left. Together, they half led, half carried him toward the emergency room. A thin trail of blood followed behind them.

"Now!" Cuddy reiterated, and the nurse quickly picked up the phone.

"I… need to talk to them…" House muttered, his eyes closing.

"They're coming." Wilson reassured him. Doors at the far end of the hallway opened, and a team of practicing residents came rushing out with a gurney. "Cuddy is calling for them. They're on their way."

The residents immediately hurried over, trying to help them lower House onto the surgical bed. Matt let go relatively easily, but Wilson held onto him the whole way down.

"What happened?" the resident asked while they started hurrying back. Not sure what to do, Matt just stood there and let them go.

"Gunshot wound to the right leg." Wilson explained. A nurse started cutting the jeans off that leg. "Don't know for sure how long it's been. Maybe an hour ago… The bullet fractured the right tibia, maybe the fibula as well. I can't tell for sure."

There were a few nods as the other nurses started assessing his vitals.

"Heartrate's up over 100 beats per minute. He's tachycardic."

"Diastolic pressure is up." Another added. "But it's not going to be too long before it goes down fast. He's already going into shock. I estimate he's lost about fifteen, maybe twenty percent blood volume. Get a pint of AB blood ready for transfusion."

"It's not that bad…" House mumbled groggily.

"Let them be the judge of that." Wilson added, still running with the team of residents. But when they reached the operating room, he had to let go.

"We have blood on the way, doctor."

"Start him on 250 mcg Somatostatin."

"Not now… I need… Where's my team?"

The doors shut. When their voices could no longer be heard, Wilson took a deep breath and walked back down the hallway. Matt was still standing where they had left him. He leaned against the wall, waiting and fidgeting with an unlit cigarette.

"He's going to be okay, right?"

Before Wilson could answer, House's team of doctors came running down the hall. They were out of breath, having literally sprinted from one end of the hospital to the other.

"Wilson, what's going on?" Foreman asked first, between a few large gasps.

"Cuddy said you found House."

"Is he going to be all right?" Cameron finished the thought that was on everyone's mind.

"He's better than we thought." Wilson tried to enjoy an uneasy sigh of relief. "They just took him back into surgery. Knowing House, he'll be checking himself out against doctors' orders a few hours post-op. You'll be able to see him then."

Chase then looked past Wilson. "… Who's that?"

Wilson looked over his shoulder, where Matt was still standing there silently. Somewhere between rescuing House and carrying him into the emergency room, Wilson had decided he could trust that the young man.

"This is Matt." Wilson introduced him. "On House's orders, you're to take him to see Mello."

"Mello?" Chase repeated, looking at the others. "Who's Mello?"

"That's the name of your John Doe." Wilson added, starting to walk back to the reception area. "Or at least, that's the only name you're going to get."


	15. The Secret Part

Matt followed the three doctors to the Intensive Care Unit, passing by a long row of closed doors. The one at the end was labeled John Doe, but Matt recognized its occupant almost immediately. There was no doubt in his mind. He had found Mello.

From his expression, they could tell that he did, in fact, know the other man, and that they were probably very close. At the very least, they knew he wasn't going to be another potential murderer.

"Can… can I go in?" Matt fumbled for words, rubbing his gloves together nervously.

"Of course you can." Cameron replied softly. "But you need to be very careful not to touch the dressings or any of the IV lines."

Matt nodded. He opened the door, nervously walked into the room, and pulled a chair over to the bedside.

"Mello?"

There was no response.

Mello had been turned onto his right side. Layers of bandages covered almost everything else, stretching over a devastating wound. Monitors beeped steadily, and several different drugs dripped from the IV bags hanging above the bed. His right eye was closed in a seemingly restless medicated sleep. He was hooked to a ventilator, the tube down his throat securely taped across the undamaged part of his face.

Matt could hardly believe his eyes.

"Is he…" Matt couldn't quite bear to make out the words.

"Vitals are stable for now." Chase relayed, as much for the other team members as for the patient's only visitor. "He's reacting well to the Dimercaprol. Fever has dropped, but we're going to keep him on antibiotics."

"That's a relief." Foreman added.

"There's still a high risk of infection." Chase added, for Matt's sake. "With a wound of that size, he's exposed to a lot of germs. We don't want him acquiring pneumonia or anything else in the next few days."

"Oh, right. Of course." Matt glanced up at the doctor for only a moment. He cupped his hand over one of Mello's, and squeezed it gently. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to do that, but he didn't want to run the risk of asking permission only to be denied.

"Matt… We're going to need to ask you a few questions, though…" Cameron hesitantly Even though the treatment for the arsenic poisoning was working, they still didn't have the answer to the original mystery – what exactly happened to him? What caused the chemical burns? Who exactly was he and how, if at all, was he connected to Kira?

The other doctors looked at the boy, who suddenly seemed to shrink inside himself at the thought of being interrogated.

"And we need you to tell us the truth." Foreman added.

"It's for him." Chase gestured to the patient with a flick of his head.

Matt rubbed Mello's hand for a few minutes as though it could somehow give him permission to speak.

"We need to know what happened…" Cameron tried to look Matt in the eyes, but he looked away.

Foreman pulled a chair over, and sat down next to Matt. He took a deep breath, and let it out very slowly.

"Look, I know you're scared. You have every right to be. And we are too."

Matt wasn't expecting that, and he looked over at Dr. Foreman. "Why would you be scared?"

"We have reason to believe someone tried to kill… Mello." The strange name didn't exactly roll off his tongue.

Matt's shoulders jerked, as though he almost stifled a nervous laugh. The doctors couldn't have known exactly how many enemies they had. Matt imagined there were probably thousands of people who wanted Mello dead – from mafia thugs to police officers to Kira himself. It was nothing new.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed by the other doctors.

"You… know of people that would want to hurt him, don't you..." Chase added slowly.

"Does it have anything to do with Kira?" Cameron asked immediately.

Matt suddenly looked up, dropping Mello's hand. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

"It's okay…" she hesitantly added as an afterthought. Her voiced dropped to a whisper "We're not pro-Kira… In fact, Dr. House, the one who told us to bring you here, he's been trying to solve the case for the past five years, to find a way to stop the heart attacks."

Matt glanced back at Mello. The ventilator clicked, and he watched Mello's chest expand. Either the doctor was lying, trying to trick him into revealing details that would incriminate them both, or they truthfully didn't know. After a careful pause, he decided on the latter.

"They can't be stopped." He whispered.

The doctors looked at him quizzically.

"What do you mean?" Chase finally asked.

"The heart attacks. They can't be stopped. It's not possible. Mello figured it out – how Kira kills…" He rubbed his hands together nervously, obviously not wanting to continue. He glanced up. The doctors stares were far too penetrating. "He uses a magical notebook that was once owned by a God of Death… When Kira pictures a face and writes that name into the notebook, they'll die in forty seconds. And there's nothing that can be done to stop it, other than getting hold of the notebook before it can be used again…"

They looked at each other, unable to believe something so incredible. Perhaps it was years of working under House, but they'd grown skeptical about anything that broke the rules of physical reality.

"You… don't have to believe it. I didn't at first. And I know Mello wouldn't have. We're not fools." Matt added. "But he watched it work. He… he even has the notebook! At least, I think he still has the notebook."

Chase and Cameron gave each other an even more skeptical look.

"No… he didn't…" Cameron finally answered.

"Are you sure?"

"We have all his things." Chase added. "He didn't have a notebook of any kind with him."

Matt sunk.

"Then he lost it when…" Matt suddenly stopped speaking.

"Lost it when… what?" Foreman asked. Whatever it was, it had to be when he acquired the massive burns. There was no mistaking the look on Matt's face. Whatever it was, however, it also sounded like a secret Matt felt he was supposed to protect with his life.

His head dropped. He couldn't say it. Someone else, however, said it for him.

"When he got blown up in a police raid, right?" Dr. House grunted as he staggered in the doorway.

A lopsided hospital gown hung awkwardly off his shoulders, tangled in the IVs that he had dragged behind him. He was still attached to one machine, if for no other reason, because it was on wheels. Given the fracture in his leg, even his cane wasn't going to be enough help to make it out of the operating room and across the hospital. It wasn't going to stop him either.

"Oh, wait. That was the secret part. My bad."


	16. Smell

Matt just froze, the color draining from his face. He hadn't divulged anything to the man he rescued. He must have reached the conclusion all on his own.

The other doctors, however, acted as if they didn't even hear him. And perhaps they didn't. The fact that he was standing there at all was the biggest shock. In the distance, they could hear Cuddy screaming at the top of her lungs with Wilson's voice in close pursuit. All three immediately jumped up to steady him.

"House, what the hell are you doing?"

"Haven't you been shot?!"

"You're supposed to be in surgery right now!"

"And you're supposed to be diagnosing your patient right now." House countered, his eyes unfocused and a little unsteady.

"You don't just get up and leave in the middle of a surgical procedure!"

House flapped his hand to quiet them down. It was hard to think with all that yelling going on.

He pushed through them ungracefully, and managed wedge the metal IV rack between the knob and the doorframe just as Cuddy reached it. She tried to push the door open, but it wouldn't budge. She banged hard on the window, and House made a face at her. Or at least, they assumed he was making a face at her, and it wasn't some sort of neurological tick caused by escaping from an operating room while at least partially anesthetized…

"Report?"

The doctors gave each other worried glances. Cuddy was still banging on the window, while Wilson had apparently hurried off in the other direction.

"God, she's annoying." House whispered in a long droll. He looked at the chart, squinting at it until the writing didn't blur. "Your lab results came up clear of everything, and yet, he's on Dimercaprol. Good job. That makes a lot of sense."

They weren't sure at first whether House was actually being serious or sarcastic.

"The first set of results was completely clear of everything." Cameron revealed what House already knew, and he made that point perfectly clear with another typical, vitriolic comeback. "The second set revealed high levels of arsenic. Dimercaprol is the standard treatment for arsenic poisoning."

"The symptoms appeared suddenly, so suddenly that he couldn't have been exposed to the arsenic prior to arriving at the hospital." Chase added.

"It smells a lot like foul play."

House paused for a moment. He was either deep in thought, or about to faint. Cuddy had stopped yelling, as least for a moment. Instead, she turned her attention to Wilson and a screwdriver.

"Smells like foul play…" he repeated to himself. "That's it…"

Again, the doctors exchanged glances. House spun around, almost falling onto the patient's bed when the wheels started to roll out from under him.

"Smell… How'd he smell?"

"What?" Chase asked.

"How'd he smell?" Foreman echoed with a raised eyebrow.

"When he first arrived, how'd he smell?"

"He was in some kind of explosion. So he smelled like burnt flesh." Cameron answered bluntly.

"No, not good enough. His hair, his clothes… How'd he smell?" House leaned in, as though to get a whiff of something. He started to lose his balance, and Foreman held him back.

"He was wearing cologne." Chase slowly remembered. "When we went through his things. His clothes smelled like flowers."

"But what would that have to do with anything?" Cameraon looked over at House. "If you think this is some kind of allergic reaction to bad cologne…"

"It wasn't cologne." House rolled his eyes, leaning into Foreman. "A lot of chemical warfare agents bind immediately to the body. They can't be traced very long after exposure, they cause severe burns and they're surprisingly easy to make."

A part of each of them wanted to know how House knew that last little fact, but no one dared find out. Outside the door, Cuddy shouted at Wilson to hurry up. Wilson, meanwhile, shrieked that he was working as fast as he could, along with something about hospital doors having too many hinges.

"Only one of them smells like flowers, and it's the same one that leaves arsenic behind when it's combined with water, such as… oh, I don't know - the water the residents down in the ER used to irrigate the blisters."

The team was, as usual, dumbfounded. Obviously, so was Matt.

"Lewisite." House clarified. "Best course of treatment, the chelating agent, British antilewisite, also known as Dimercaprol. Up the dose to 2.5 milliliters on the next intramuscular injection, repeat every six hours and start… start weaning him off the ventilator as soon as you can."

Foreman was now holding House up.

"Up the morphine as needed… reapply the silver sulfadiazine ointment at least twice a day or if goggles boy happens to bump it…" he slumped a little in Foreman's arms just as the last screw finally came off the door. "And add fifty milligrams of diphenhydramine to the IV. Those blisters are going to itch like hell when he wakes up. If he scratches them… they'll… they'll just get infected…"

Wilson jumped as the door slid off the frame and into the hallway. The rack he was using to brace the door fell noisily onto the tile.

"House, you're an idiot!!" he shouted as Cuddy climbed over the fallen door.

Nobody dared to argue about that, including the man in question. In the middle of giving his diagnosis, he had passed out in Foreman's arms.

The loud shuffle eventually ended, leaving Matt alone in the room with Mello. On Cameron's order, a nurse taped a bed sheet over the open door frame, to give the pair at least an illusion of privacy. Matt knew, however, that it was just an illusion, and so he didn't say very much, even when he'd received a secret call from Halle Linder. He just sat there, holding Mello's hand until he finally fell asleep.


	17. Confessions

The next day, Matt ventured into the hospital to find the doctor he had rescued. After stopping by an empty office first, he eventually found him in a private room on the east wing.

"You have a visitor, Dr. House." A nurse smiled, if for no other reason than the fact that House would find her cheerful demeanor particularly annoying.

"But it's visiting hours…" he whined. "The one time where everyone in this godforsaken place doesn't come and see me! Tell them to go away."

The nurse smiled again, pretending not to hear anything House said. A few moments later, Matt entered the room.

"Oh, it's you."

"Yeah." He answered sheepishly. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"No. You didn't come to just see how I was doing. You came to confirm what I either know or don't know about your friend and what I'm going to do with the information." He replied in a softer voice, and then looked up into Matt's strangely innocent eyes. Even hidden behind orange goggles, they made House second-guess himself. "Right?"

"You didn't have to take Mello in, but you did. You didn't have to go out looking for clues, but you did, and you were shot and almost killed. You didn't have to run out in the middle of your own surgery to make sure he got treated right, but you did." Matt said coldly. "Can't I just thank you?"

"You can, but I won't believe it." House answered without a second thought.

Matt shrugged.

"Fair enough." He smiled a little, and pulled up a chair. "You're right, though. And I'm willing to strike a deal. Everything we know about… "

"Don't bother." House replied.

"You haven't even heard the offer."

"I don't need to. Cameron's as naive as she is pretty." House cut him off, but kept his voice to a dry whisper. "Keep your lips sealed. I know whatever you have to say is just going to incriminate you and your buddy in there. He's not some secret agent working on the Kira case. He's a powerful crime lord. And the minute anyone finds out where he is, he's looking at Death Row."

Matt tried his best not to show any reaction. House was half-right, and it wasn't the good half.

"He had the gas mask because he knew an explosion was going to happen. He didn't know when, but it was only a matter of time. He knew it was going to happen because he built the bomb, and he set it off to escape getting caught. He had it all planned out. He just didn't expect something to go wrong. Too bad it did."

Matt didn't, and couldn't, say anything.

He knew that if he told the truth – that Mello joined the mafia in order to use its power and resources in the fight against Kira, that through a series of hostages he'd gotten hold of Kira's murder weapon, that the heart attacks were all being caused by a notebook that once belonged to a god of death – House wouldn't believe him. The other doctors, the ones who claimed they were decidedly anti-Kira, didn't really believe him. Hell, Matt would have had a hard time believing it himself were he not actually living it. But it didn't erase the fact that House was actually right about one thing – Good intentions aside, Mello was still a dangerous criminal, and there probably wasn't a judge in the entire country that wouldn't get at thrill from personally overseeing his execution.

House, meanwhile, was staring through Matt as though he were a tumor on an x-ray film. He was a strange growth that just didn't fit.

"The one thing I don't get… is why you're still here."

"He's my best friend…" Matt added quietly, sliding his hand into his vest. "You can believe whatever you want. But he's a good person. No matter what he does, I'm always going to be there to pick up the pieces."

For a moment, time stood still. House could feel a strange sense of foreboding boiling in his chest. He'd forgotten about it before, but this man still had a gun, maybe more than one, hidden on his person. But when the hand came out, Matt was only holding a Game Boy.

The young man flipped it on, and headed out of the room, leaving House alone with his thoughts.


	18. Dishonorable Discharge

A couple of weeks passed, and things had started to return to normal. Normal was, of course, relative, in the sense that new patients were presenting with easily diagnosable cases of tuberculoma, endocardidtis and herpes encephalitis. There were no riddles, nor unsolved mysteries. They had medical records, not possible criminal records. Talk of Kira was once again being swept under the table. And there was an uneasy, unspoken silence between absolutely everyone when it came to that one mysterious burn patient.

Mello was a fighter, Matt had said to Dr. Cameron on more than one occasion. And a fighter he proved himself to be. He was alive, awake and finally coherent.

They stopped the Dimercaprol after a few days, and Mello had remained relatively stable. A few days later, he had beaten the first of several opportunistic infections. Despite the excruciating struggle, he also managed to wean himself off the ventilator.

At first, when the endotracheal tube was removed, Matt was terrified. Dry lips quivered, and after a few timeless moments a scratchy voice asked for a 'fucking chocolate bar.'

Dr. Chase almost laughed out loud when he heard the request. It seemed so out of place, but to Matt, it was decidedly Mello. And he couldn't have been happier to hear it. When the doctors all returned that afternoon, they each brought a chocolate bar. It was the least they could do.

But that was then… And this was now.

Dr. House was alone when he entered the room. He picked up the chart in silence, and spent at least ten minutes reading through it, line by line. If his presence alone was meant to be intimidating, it certainly worked on Matt. Mello, however, didn't flinch.

What was once a massive wound was now a large scar. It began at his hairline, covering half his face, his neck, and streaking down his chest where the leather vest had pulled apart. His left eye was hidden behind a dark eye patch, protecting it from the harsh glow of the hospital lights. He looked as though he had been through Hell and back. In many ways, he had.

"What is it?" he eventually broke the silence. His throat was still rather scratchy, giving each of his words a raspy bark.

"I like the scar. It suits you." He answered.

Mello wasn't sure if he was supposed to take that as an insult or a compliment. He decided he'd better take it as the latter, though, when House said it was going to be permanent. Even if the scar faded, the discoloration would probably never go away.

The doctor pushed a stool over to the bedside and sat down. He lifted the eye patch carefully.

"Open." He ordered. As his patient did so, he flashed a light into it. Mello screamed and instinctively pushed his body back into the pillows. Matt backed away too, in an odd combination of fright and sympathy.

"The eye is healing slowly, but that's to be expected." House continued, ignoring the agonizing outburst. "The cornea was badly damaged from the Lewisite vapors. I'd keep that patch on for another two weeks, maybe longer. If you don't, what you just felt, you'll feel a hell of a lot more often. When the sensitivity to light dies down, you'll find out exactly how much your vision suffered."

"I might not be able to see out of that eye again?"

"Depends on what you mean by seeing." House replied. "You probably won't be blind, no. But there's no guarantee the blurriness will go away either."

"All right."

"The damage to your airway seems mild, in comparison." He revealed. "It looks like that gas mask of yours did a better job than you thought."

Mello exchanged an uneasy glance with Matt.

"Your voice will come back too. Unless you actually sounded like that before, in which case, I wouldn't quit your day job to audition for American Idol. In another couple of weeks, you'd never know you inhaled several lung-fulls of toxic gas."

"The secondary infections Cameron was talking about?" Matt asked hesitantly.

"Cured for now, but any permanent damage to the respiratory mucosa means an increased risk for future infection, neoplasia, other tumors… But you'll have to take that as it comes."

"Tumors? As in cancer?" Matt asked.

"Could be. Not always." House continued, hobbling back toward the door. "Organic arsenicals can have plenty of far-reaching complications in a number of organ systems. There are plenty of other neurologic, endocrine, thermoregulatory disorders that have absolutely nothing to do with cancer."

"It doesn't matter, Matt." Mello shot him a sideways glance. He wasn't scared, primarily because he didn't suspect he'd live long enough to experience any of those long-term effects. Matt was scared, however, because he knew exactly why Mello wasn't. House knew it too.

A nurse then brought a wheelchair into the room. Sitting on top of it was everything Mello was brought in with. House immediately dumped the entire unopened bag in the trash bucket.

"I'd give you a moment to get dressed, but this is the only thing you had that survived the rigorous decontamination process." He snorted sarcastically, and flung the red rosary onto the bed. Mello clutched it tightly. "If you don't want to be caught out in public and naked, there's a set of scrubs under the chair."

Matt looked, and sure enough, there was.

Mello was immediately wary. It looked as though he was about to be discharged. But Matt had told him everything that transpired. They both knew that this doctor had uncovered the worst of what he was involved in, and could easily send them to the chair with just a few words of testimony. The police could be just down the hall, waiting to take them into custody. This could be the end of everything they had worked for… But fortunately for Mello, Matt wasn't about to let him get captured without a fight.

When neither of them moved, House pretended to get the picture. He made a sarcastic jab about suddenly being shy and turned around to face the wall. He made his back too easy of a target, which meant there had to be more to his actions...

Mello took the scrubs from Matt and slid into them. He peeled off the last of the wires, and left them dangling from the surrounding machines. They stopped beeping, and the room was blanketed by a deadly silence.

House simply waited patiently. He was sure he'd hear it, he just had to wait for it. Matt cocked his gun. It was quiet, but in the equally quiet room, the clicking sound just echoed.

"Get ready to run…" he mouthed, glancing down at Mello, to make sure he was on the same page. "I'll be right behind you."

Mello's bare feet slid to the floor, and he stood next to Matt. Silently, he put his hand on the gun.

"No." he whispered scratchily. "He saved my life. He doesn't deserve to die."

"You know that means you'll…"

"Yeah, I know. Put it away." Mello insisted, and Matt obeyed.

"Really, how long does it take for a man who's smart enough to build his own chemical weapons, and they aren't really that easy to make, I lied about that before… to throw on a set of scrubs? Come on, there's not even any buttons."

"I'm ready. You can turn around now." Mello replied after a deep breath. He was still stiff, but he walked himself to the wheelchair with only a little support.

House gestured toward Matt, and the other boy took the handles of the wheelchair, and pushed it out the door. There was no turning back now... It was over.


	19. H

And what happened... took Matt and Mello completely by surprise. No one said a word to them, and they said nothing in return. They didn't even stop until they'd reached Matt's car.

"That's it?"

"I figured you didn't want a going-away party, what with your being a fugitive and all." House tapped the side of Matt's car with his cane. A little more paint chipped off. "That, and I've met enough of the potential invitees already."

Matt was almost dumbstruck. He lit a cigarette and forgot to take a drag. Without saying another word, he climbed into the car and turned on the ignition. The engine roared.

Mello opened the door on the passenger side, but stopped before getting in.

"Dr. House, what are you going to tell them? The other doctors, I mean. Is there going to be a report?"

"I'm going to tell them the same thing I'm telling you. Don't ask so many stupid questions." He pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket, and handed it to the former John Doe.

Mello took it with suspicion, but couldn't stop a thin smile from appearing on the good side of his face.

"Thank you."

Mello climbed into the car, and whispered something to Matt. The car pulled out of the parking lot, and disappeared under the highway.

By the time House got back to his office, there was a file on his computer about the Kira case. It contained everything Matt and Mello knew about the victims and how they really died. It told about the Death Note, how it worked and how Kira used it to commit murder. It even contained contact information, if someone was smart enough to figure out that's what it was from the heavily encrypted line of code Matt had left at the bottom.

House would have dismissed it all as complete nonsense had it not been for one thing – Mello had gotten away. Nobody at the hospital knew his true name or his true identity. House could lie on the report and craft any story he wanted to. The young men didn't have to do anything to save their skins, and yet they hacked into the hospital's computer network to deliver information that at least a dozen secret government agencies would be jealous of.

Of course, House read the entire report, and then took out the new phone that Wilson had bought for him. He pushed a series of numbers, and to his surprise, it rang.

Mello just smirked. There was a lot he had to catch up on, including a secret meeting with Linder and a little rendezvous with Near. But there was plenty of time to take the call.

"Congratulations. I see you read my report." Mello answered cockily, breaking a chocolate bar in his teeth. Now it was House's turn to be dumbstruck. "So, you've been cataloging Kira's heart attack victims for the past five years? I want to know any and all commonalities they share, not just medical ones, plotted against time. That'll tell us when the notebook changed hands, and help us track it down again. I'll give you a few days to work and check back in. In the meantime, try to keep this our little secret."

For the first time, the doctor didn't have a ready answer. The silence was almost humbling. Mello couldn't help but grin.

"Oh, and welcome aboard, H."

Yes, the case was one step closer to being solved…


End file.
